


revists on your doorstep at dusk

by spills



Series: half measures [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fake Marriage, If you have tags to recommend please let me know, It's a Yoshiwara AU so (vague hand gestures), M/M, Second Time Tagging This Binch And It's Still A Fucking Nightmare, The Men of Yoshiwara: Ohgiya AU, sex happens, sort of ??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spills/pseuds/spills
Summary: This new husband of his has a pair of hands that tend to gardens, a pair of bright eyes and a sweet voice. Three traits that already set him apart from his usual cliente.
Relationships: Komori Motoya/Suna Rintarou
Series: half measures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830283
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	revists on your doorstep at dusk

**Author's Note:**

> previously, i had first posted this fic as "dusk and don't you want me?" but then after much much encouragement i was like  
> "yeah, i can make it better, time to see what can be patched" and ended up with a 2.0-esque type of deal
> 
> this au was supposed to be a joke. and then i got invested.  
> 120 nintendo coins and spite and now i'm here

Rintarou tends to find himself either under a man, or over a woman to consummate their marriage upon the 3rd meeting. He supposes that he was expecting the same procedure with Komori Motoya when the two of them had set down their respective wine cups. Vows were made, the kind that are merely formalities, only eligible within the grounds of the red-light district. 

Even so, it wasn’t truly binding as long as the patron was wealthy enough to take on a second or third spouse, and no party had issues with the arrangement. Rintarou has been someone else’s third or fourth husband, and business was merely business. He knows that he’s another flower in a garden to be plucked. Yoshiwara had a variety of blooms, and the rule of marriage was supposedly created to protect the integrity of those who lived within its premises. 

Those who live within, and those who live outside. The admirer who indulges in flowers at their fingertips are the ones with power to determine worth. And Rintarou has had a track record of being someone else’s second favourite, third favourite or even fourth. 

Rintarou is aware of his own position within the society outside the confines of the gates. Even if he may be akin to an idol on the streets ever since his procession, it didn’t matter if his safety and wellbeing was to be reliant on a future spouse that wanted him for more, outside of what designated services he was meant to provide. 

He’s an offering among other offerings, and individuals with individual tastes would be more than likely to attempt a test-taste of what they could get, even if it doesn’t stay. It’s a process to decide on what’s best for them, the patron. He knows that he should be grateful when he stumbles upon a lord or lady that allows themselves to find satisfaction in his one pair of arms, instead of letting their gazes wander elsewhere. The illusion of fidelity, he plays the part of a dutiful and loyal spouse, and he wonders if the husbands and wives of his patrons are actually dutiful and loyal spouses, burning the midnight oil till day break as they wait for their beloved to return home. He would pity the first spouses of his patrons if he didn’t see them as competition, he would pity his patron’s actual spouses if he didn't simply think of business as business. 

_ Marriage is a social contract _ , Rintarou reminds himself as he cleans away the wine and wine cups,  _ and sex is sex which is what binds us two within these gates.  _ He puts the wooden lacquered tray to the side of the sink, water will damage the fine material. He washes the ceramic cups and jar underneath the tap, takes his time to allow his mind to wander, indifferently wondering how Motoya would be in bed. The man- his husband hadn’t let slip of any of his own personal relations, aside from being a servant to a master that wouldn’t be home for a while. 

Rintarou had called him a housekeeper, and Motoya had shrugged with a smile. 

He takes his time, despite every inch of his body wanting to return to his room immediately. If he already knows what’s going to happen next, then, what’s the point of waiting? The kitchen will offer him no insight into the other man’s desires, and desire is what makes someone stay. While Rintarou already has a circulation of regulars, there’s no harm in adding another number to his collection. 

Motoya would be a nice addition. This new husband of his has a pair of hands that tend to gardens, a pair of bright eyes and a sweet voice. Three traits that already set him apart from his usual cliente. It makes Rintarou hungry for a taste of what the other man has to offer. 

Hunger is infectious, and Rintarou wants to know what makes the other man hungry. He takes his time, because Ren-san once pointed out his spectrum of extremes - either too aloof or too cloying, that the key to make one stay was to pay attention to his partner’s desires first. Sound advice, but faking pleasure is no fun either, and he’s aware that part of his appeal is being distant, only to melt under however he’s being held. Might as well make work enjoyable, if not tolerable, after all. 

Rintarou takes a breath, thanking his  _ aniki’s  _ lessons in his head, pushes away his own wants and desires, before returning to his room. Still, he can’t help but wonder where Motoya will put his hands on him, where the man’s mouth will mark his mark. He imagines Motoya undressing himself, maybe folding his clothes to the side of the bed, before making himself comfortable in it. That’s what the more daring of his husbands do, and Motoya is by no means timid. 

Instead, Rintarou finds himself surprised upon returning to the other man. Motoya is still sitting in a  _ seiza _ position, his hands placed neatly over his thighs. His husband turns his head in the door’s direction upon hearing Rintarou’s footsteps, a small smile on his face. The edge of his eyes crinkle, as if he were waiting for him. 

“Welcome back,” he greets with a wave of the hand, but there’s a weight in the air, as if the other man has been thinking. Rintarou can’t help the narrowing of his own eyes, as Motoya closes his own. “Marriage like this is weird,” he laughs in admission, and what was the man expecting to happen? Rintarou waits for the other man to continue speaking, so he can gauge which direction conversation should be taken. Motoya blinks, as if in realization of something before looking up to meet Rintarou’s stare. His voice is soft, fond even, when he asks, “Though, I suppose this means I get the honour of asking you about your day right, Rintarou?” 

“Isn’t that a mouthful?” Rintarou answers with a question instead of posing the actual question on his mind. To ask  _ aren’t you here to fuck me?  _ is crude, even for him. So he tilts his head to the side and offers, “You’re allowed to call me Rin.” 

A thoughtful look crosses Motoya’s face before he nods in response, amicable to informalities becoming even more informal. 

“Okay Rin,” he drops Rintarou’s nickname like a pearl from his tongue, as if the sound of it is precious in his mouth. Says the nickname before grinning up at Rin, “But trust me, I’m actually interested in your day,” he winks, “Promise I’m not lying.” Rintarou can’t help but find himself a little lost in the face of  _ everything  _ that is not happening. 

Maybe this is proof that Rintarou is too used to desire searing skin, facing immediate desperation after immediate desperation from his patrons who seem to constantly crave for his flesh under their fingertips. Rintarou is used to pleasantries at most, before being stripped bare for the pleasure of his spouse. 

He is not used to being asked about his day, rarely thinks about it, if at all. Yet, here sits his newest husband, on his knees by the tea table waiting for his answer as if he’s inside a home rather than a  _ courtesan’s bedroom _ . 

Being caught off-guard is mind-boggling and terrible, if only because nightly activities rarely deviate from the usual course. 

Fortunately, RIn had a perfected poker face, “Nothing special,” he offers with a lazy shrug, “This night might be though, now that you’re here,” and Motoya has the audacity to look touched. Rin has his hand tight around the reins of conversation, and maybe Motoya is just shy, needing a bit of encouragement. 

He can provide that push, that’s easy. “Want to lie in bed with me?” his question forward, tone blunt, but he keeps his expression coy. Motoya’s expression however, shifts to flustered, gaze averted when he replies “If you would like that.” 

Six steps forwards, and Rintarou kisses the side of Motoya’s mouth. Heat radiates off of the other man’s face, warmth simmering under his skin, as Rin mouths “I would,” in a low voice, an easy whisper. 

Again, Motoya’s eyes are directed elsewhere, his gaze downcast despite his edge of his lips curling into a hesitant smile. His eyelashes are casting shadows over the apples of his cheeks, “Okay,” and he glances up at Rin, “Do you mind me taking off my outer robe then? I don’t want to dirty your mattress.” 

Rintarou holds his tongue from letting sentences such as  _ you can take off whatever you want  _ or  _ we’ll be making a mess out of these sheets anyway  _ slipping from his lips. In hindsight, some deity must have been watching over him that night, because it’s fortunate that neither phrase escaped his mouth. 

This is because they do not fuck on their marriage night. 

Instead, Motoya has an elbow pressed against the mattress to support the weight of his head, his cheek cradled within his own palm. Rin himself has his arms folded over each other, the side of his head resting in the crook of his left elbow as the other man talks about his day. Mundane things, such as buying groceries because his pantry at home was running out of fresh vegetables. That the gardener came by today to help with the pruning of the shrubs, though Motoya swears he’s getting better at it. That today he had received a letter from his master in Europe, who had been keen to learn more about western medicine. 

It’s the first night of marriage that Rintarou has ever passed with nothing more than idle chatter. Despite that, he doesn’t find himself bored at any point, simply observing the array of expressions and emotions Motoya is able to conjure and convey with his face. Rintarou decides that if he’s being given a break from the usual agenda, he’ll take it. It’s been a while since he’s had a night of good rest, and Motoya ends up falling asleep first. 

He ends up being the one who wakes up first the next day - just a little bit before dawn, and somehow, Motoya is the one being held in his arms. His face snuggled in the crook of his collarbone, and Rintarou can feel the other’s chest rise and fall against him. If RIntarou had one arm placed on the other’s hip half-way through the night, then he refuses to think too much of it. 

He stays in bed, blankets pulled over them. Warming the bed is supposed to be his job after all. Motoya wakes up eventually, stretching his limbs before proceeding to dress himself, even if it’s just the  _ haori _ he had set aside as Rintarou goes to kitchens to prepare his husband a cup of tea to start the day.

Motoya smiles too brightly for someone who had woken up 20 minutes ago. He finishes his tea as Rin had brushed the tangles out of his hair before sending him off, walking his husband to the door. 

Motoya kisses Rintarou’s cheeks as he bids goodbye before disappearing among the swathes of people in the morning. 

If Rintarou stands at the entrance for a minute too long watching the other man’s back becoming smaller and smaller, he doesn’t think about it. 

* * *

Like the previous two times when Motoya had visited, he had walked his husband to the entrance of the teahouse, received a kiss on each cheek and had watched the other man leave. His arms folded, back leaning against the doorway as the other man had disappeared into the crowd once more. 

By the fifth time, Rintarou would have offered to walk his patrons to Yoshiwara’s gates, due to courtesy’s sake. Sometimes they would accept with a greedy shine in their eyes, having something pretty to show off - courtesans of his rank were a symbol of status after all. Other times, he had patrons who appeared to wear shame as a second skin. These customers were the ones Rintarou disliked the most, but wanted them to come back twice as much. 

Motoya however, was an oddity. Fifth meeting and the man just seemed content enough to run his fingers through Rin’s hair, be held by the waist, curl up in his embrace for warmth. Here for small talk and Rin pouring his wine. 

It’s after the fifth meeting when Rintarou’s patience finally frays regarding this play-pretend domesticity between two individuals bound by contract. 

While Rintarou would have usually welcomed the lack of activity, the frustrating bit was that Motoya was unfortunately attractive, not a jaw-dropping stunner, but simply magnetic with his easy touches that go nowhere, as if affection is something that can be doled out effortlessly. 

Rintarou’s patrons  _ pay  _ him to be the object of their affections, for him to offer himself without reserve, and yet, never once did Motoya make a move to slip his hands under Rin’s garments. The courtesan closes his eyes, feeling his eyebrows furrow as he returns indoors. 

For fuck’s sake, he is one of Inarizaki’s most sought out courtesan’s - knows that he is, at the very least, physically desirable as that was the base requirement of this career. Even if the conversation he offered wasn’t particularly riveting at times, most of his patrons were simply here to satisfy their lust, see their own image reflected in cold eyes offering them attention in the moment of heat. 

For the first time in his career, Rintarou wonders if he had stumbled upon a husband that simply was not interested in him? While he wasn’t one to flaunt his rank, it was something that he did pride himself in. That even if he didn’t give his all in pleasuring his spouses, they would come back. 

Yet Motoya kept coming back, despite receiving nothing. 

He ends up bitching about it to Osamu at breakfast. 

Osamu who’s sporting hickeys along his neck, while biting into the onigiri in his palm. Rintarou pours the two of them tea, routine in the form of bitching about their patrons in general. Despite the apathetic look on Osamu’s face as he chews his food, Rintarou can tell that he’s annoyed at the obvious marks left on his skin. 

Meanwhile, Rintarou thinks that he might be frustrated at the lack of his. 

He sets the teapot down, blows some air over the surface. Takes a sip of his tea before pointing out the obvious. “Rough night?’ and there’s a bite mark decorating Osamu’s collarbone, peeking out from his yukata. 

Osamu merely rolls his eyes. 

“Not all of us can get lucky ya know, Sunarin? Having at least one spouse that isn’t interested in what we’re supposed to do,” a voice similar to Osamu’s, but Osamu is reaching for a second onigiri. From the door pops in the mirror image, the evil twin, and Atsumu’s grin is smug when he speaks, “Speaking of which, what’s wrong with that man of yours?” and Atsumu could be so crude at times, “Does he not want to fuck ya?” even though it’s posed as a question, it’s pointed enough to be a rhetorical insult. 

As the superior twin, Osamu had chucked his half-eaten onigiri at Atsumu’s head. “I’m eating breakfast. Don’t make me waste breakfast on shutting up your filthy trash mouth.” 

So begins their usual morning brawl. Rintarou decides to help himself to an onigiri, watching the two brothers go at each other’s throats as his morning entertainment. It’s amusing because neither of them win, and the victor is Kita-san who arrives with a washcloth in his hand, stating that if they have enough energy to waste fighting with each other, then they can go help the errand boys with their chores, effectively having both twins pipe down. 

Rintarou wipes down the table, helps Osamu with washing the dishes afterwards. He’s thinking about taking a nap when Osamu offers his thoughts. 

“Maybe,” Osamu starts slowly, eyes on his hands which are drying plates. “Instead of wanting to fuck you, what if he wants it the other way around?” and leaves it at that while Rintarou blinks slowly, hands and dishes still under running water. 

The idea hasn’t crossed his mind, as it was usually men that loomed over him, women underneath him. He isn’t the sort to switch positions around unless requested, because he isn’t interested in working more than necessary. 

Yet.. the idea of Motoya being the one underneath him fills him with desire that he hasn’t felt in a while. A new kind of want that Rintarou didn’t realize he was capable of, when he considers tanned skin underneath his own pale hands, his teeth sinking into the other’s bottom lip, to have the other man beg for more of him. 

“Hey Rin?” Osamu jabs his side, and Rintarou jolts, “Those plates aren’t going to wash themselves, lazy ass.” Rin turns to look at the other man with a faint pout, retort ready on his tongue till he sees the grin on Osamu’s face identical to the one Atsumu wore just a bit earlier. 

Needless to say, actions were deemed louder than words, so it’s only natural that Rintarou cups his hands and throws water at the other man. 

* * *

Tonight is his sixth meeting with Motoya. 

Rintarou is dressed in his favourite kimono, prefers it because it’s comfortable and simple. The collar is trimmed in gold, and the rest of the fabric is an inky black. It’s perfect because it draws out the slate grey of the light third layer he wears underneath it, and the details of his haori. Embroidered foxes of silver and gold, on either side, a gift given by the teahouse’s master after his deflowering. He doesn’t wear it often, if only because he doesn’t want to accidentally dirty it. 

That’s why tonight he doesn’t bother to powder his face, nor does he paint his lips. The only trace of makeup to be found is at the red liner at the edge of his eyes, as well as a dusting of rogue. Usually, he only dresses up like this for his wives, as they had a keener eye for appreciating art in its effortlessness, compared to his husbands who thought more was better. 

Instead of waiting to be told when Motoya has arrived, Rintarou takes the initiative to wait by the entrance, arms crossed and tucked into either sleeve. The expression on his face is at its resting look of disinterest, even as Akagi comments on his attire with a snicker. 

“Isn’t it just Motoya tonight?” and Rintarou doesn’t dignify the question with an answer, only offers a flat look because it isn’t  _ just _ Motoya. 

He doesn’t say anything though, as that would be as good as an admission of desiring someone else, and that wouldn’t do. Courtesans are supposed to be desired, and pretend to desire, not the other way around. 

So Rintarou tells himself this:  _ it’s just Motoya _ . 

Motoya who arrives in nothing but a modest hakama made of fine cotton. Who’s smile becomes frozen upon greeting him as his pupils dilate, and Rintarou can see himself in the other man’s pupils, the slightest upward tilt of his own lips upon seeing the other man’s reaction. 

_ Are you finally having filthy thoughts about me? _

It’s gratifying to see the other man speechless compared to his usual chattiness, that Motoya’s jaw has finally dropped, stunned upon drinking in Rintarou’s appearance. 

“Why the silence, Motoya?” Rintarou rolls his husband’s name on his tongue, and the other man’s spine straightens up, shoulders tense. 

“Nothing,” his husband’s answer escapes his lips too quickly like a mouthful of air that’s desperate to leave the lungs in a single exhale. Motoya averts his gaze while vaguely gesturing to Rintarou’s direction, “You look…” and Motoya fumbles for words before deciding on “Gorgeous. That’s all.” 

“Are you saying that I’m not always gorgeous?” Rintarou cocks an eyebrow, and takes two steps forward. The other man is only a few mere centimeters shorter than, and Rin finds himself using his height to loom over the other man, backs him into a wall, offering a wry smile. 

Motoya looks like he’s torn between being starstruck or panicking, “Nope, definitely not, you’re always gorgeous,” his husband remedies, looks at anywhere but Rintarou, “I’ve just never seen you dressed like this before,” he teeth worries at his bottom lip before continuing his train of thought, “My appearance pales compared to you.” 

Rintarou hums in response, and decides that this conversation can be taken to his room. The courtesan reaches for his husband’s hand, takes hold of it as their eyes meet oh-so-briefly.  “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re handsome,” Rintarou laces their fingers together as he leads the other man up the stairs, to his room, “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be courting you in the first place, no?” 

* * *

“You know Motoya,” Rintarou taps painted nails against the lacquered tea table, his face carefully kept apathetic, waits for the other’s full attention before he continues speaking. 

Motoya for once, had accepted wine upon being asked the first time, takes a sip before tilts his head to side, an indication for Rin to continue before averting his gaze. “This is our sixth meeting,” Rin states it as fact, “So I apologize for being blunt but, consider me curious. Is my purpose to only warm your bed when we are lying side by side?” mirrors Motoya’s action, and cocks his head to the side, gauging his husband’s reaction as he queries, “Do you not want more from me?” 

_ Or do you not want more of me? Is there someone else that you have at home? A proper spouse who you make love too, instead of simply sharing a bed with. If we’re meant to play pretend at domesticity, isn’t it only right that we commit to our roles? Or are our roles simply meant to be enacted halfway?  _

_ Two halves for a whole.  _

This relationship is a sham, and shams were supposed to be an imitation of the real thing. The marriage tradition after all, was also created to relieve those of other faiths from their guilt regarding premarital sex. The illusion of being bound to one other person and only one. 

This relationship is a sham for the sake of the patron to obtain pleasure. Given that, what’s the point of being in a pleasure district if you aren’t going to allow yourself to be pleasured? 

“I-” his husband sets down his cup, gaze still refusing to meet Rintarou’s own and Rintarou feels the impatient beast in the pit of his chest craving to grab the other man’s jaw, for the two of them to meet eye to eye. Rintarou reaches for his wine instead of acting on desire, bides his time, and waits for the other man to find his words. 

The confession that follows is well-worth the wait. 

“Okay,” Motoya sighs and squeezes his eyes shut before taking a deep breath. Puffs his cheeks up, as if mustering courage before finally letting both of their eyes meet, pupils blown wide, intense and hungry. It’s a new look on the other man, and one Rintarou thinks he could get used to. He takes a sip of his wine as the other man speaks. “I want you, I think you’re attractive, but I don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to do,” he says in one breath before continuing to rattle on, “I like your company, I like sleeping in your arms, so I’m okay if we don’t have sex,” inhales, exhales, before admiting in a quieter voice, “I’ve never been with a man like this before. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t want to force myself upon you, Rin.”

Despite his name sounding soft and sweet in the other man’s mouth, the confession has Rin rolling his eyes. 

For fuck’s sake, he’s a courtesan. He isn’t an amateur, and despite him being lazy whenever he can get away with it, he knows how to get the job done. So maybe, Motoya should just let him do his fucking job good and well. 

“Thank you for thinking of me, but I can assure you that you’re good-looking and attractive in more ways than one,” Motoya states as if fact, because it is, “I would not mind having sex with you.” 

The latter statement has Motoya’s eyebrows furrowed, and Rintarou finds himself in disbelief at the other’s doubt of his statement. Still, he’s a professional, so he holds back another roll of the eyes before setting his wine cup down, and crawls over to Motoya’s side. 

He settles a hand over the other man’s inner thigh, drawing mindless patterns with his nails over it. Leans in to brush his lips against the shell of the other man’s ear when he whispers, “If you don’t know what to do, how about you just follow my lead?” Rintarou uses his free hand to cup Motoya’s cheek, arranges his husband’s head so they’re face to face. Motoya’s face is a brilliant shade of pink, ears tipped red, and his lips are parted and oh- how Rintarou finds himself  _ wanting.  _

The courtesan licks his bottom lip before declaring, “I’m going to kiss you.”

“Okay,” and Motoya’s tone is surprisingly steady despite the escalation of events. His expression has melted into something relieved, fond, and dare Rintarou say  _ love stricken _ . His lips are parted and Rintarou leans in for the kiss. 

Motoya allows his tongue to slip easy between his lips, and places a hand on the back of Rintarou’s neck. His husband presses into it, desperate, and Rintarou can’t help but nip at the other man’s bottom lip. 

An adorable keening sound escapes from his husband’s throat, and it makes Rintarou decide this on the spot. If he’s going to be the first man to fuck Komori Motoya, he is going  _ ruin him _ for anyone else who may find themselves in his bed. 

* * *

Getting Motoya out of his clothes doesn’t take much work. Rin has deft fingers tugging the other man’s sash in between heated kisses. Peels Motoya’s  _ kimono  _ off of either shoulder, revealing skin bronzed from the sun, dotted with freckles. Motoya shucks the sleeves from his arms, lets them hang at his side, exposing the expanse of his torso before wrapping his arms around Rin’s neck, and pulls him deeper into the kiss. 

His husband kisses him like a drowning man seeking air, attempting to break the water’s surface. The ocean Motoya is submerged in is an illusion of desire, and Rintarou wants to tie a sack of rocks around his ankle, sink Motoya into these depths till he learns how to breathe underwater. 

Rintarou has one hand on the back of the other man’s head, fingers threading through Motoya’s hair. His husband’s physique is well-built and sturdy, yet the curve of his waist is the perfect fit for Rintarou’s palm. 

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. 

They break apart eventually, both panting for air - a strand of saliva connecting their lips, glistening in the candlelight,

Motoya raises the back of his face, breathing through his mouth, dotted eyebrows furrowed. His irises are dark and downcast, but Rintarou recognizes the look as a man hazy with lust. 

_ It’s Motoya’s first time with a man _ , he reminds himself, a bid to slow himself down from escalating the pace too quickly. He wants to push his husband into the mattress, wants to mark every surface of his body, but settles for crawling towards Motoya, chanting the word  _ restraint  _ in his head like a mantra. Humans are pleasure-seeking creatures - hedonistic and selfish, and Rintarou wants all the pleasure he can milk from his husband. 

It should be the other way around, Motoya should be the one trying to make Rintarou offer every piece of himself. But then again, it shouldn’t matter if Motoya is going to receive collateral pleasure from his own.

“How’re you feeling?”Rintarou draws a line down the split center of Motoya’s chest, his question husky as he presses a chaste kiss between his husband’s brows to soothe out the furrows. 

Motoya relaxes at that, humming pleasantly in response before he lifts his chin up to catch Rin’s bottom lip on his teeth, gives it a playful nip before pressing a chaste kiss of his own to the courtesan’s mouth. “Really good,” his answer is simple, forward in its honesty, which Rintarou can appreciate. Occasionally, Rin’s spouses like to play coy, and Rin has to sate their desires, wildest fantasies, even if he doesn’t actually care for them. 

Others want to see him beg for their attention, when really, they’re greedy for his. 

A huff of a chuckle escapes his throat as his fingers are searching for the drawstring of Motoya’s  _ hakama.  _ Presses butterfly kisses along Motoya’s jawline, “If you’re too honest, I could take advantage of you Motoya.”

And to that, Motoya only laughs lightly as an answer, honest-to-god giggles. 

“So what if you do,” and Rintarou can’t help but raise an eyebrow, as Motoya bumps their noses against each other, lips so close they’re almost touching. Rin can feel the brush of Motoya’s smile when he continues his train of thought, “You’ll still take care of me, won’t you?” question posed as a challenge. 

Rintarou narrows his eyes, hooks two fingers in both Motoya’s  _ hakama _ and small clothes and yanks these obstructions away from his prize. His other hand digging into the flesh of his husband’s inner thigh sharply, eliciting a whimper. 

Below is the other man’s cock at half-mast, tip of it flushed with a sheen of pre-cum. Rintarou drags his thumb from the base of Motoya’s shaft, a single-minded stroke that’s punctuated with a swipe over the head’s slit as he leans in to bite the lobe of the other man’s ear. “Yeah, you’ll be in my care,” he promises this husband of his, low and dark. 

Motoya’s entire body quivers in anticipation and Rin gives in easily, tucks loose hair behind his ear, and arranges Motoya’s grip onto his shoulder before dipping his head low. 

Blows a breath of warm air over the cockhead, then kisses it gently and feels the muscle of Motoya’s thigh tighten under his right palm. He glances upwards, pleased to see Motoya’s attention completely devoted to him, and rewards him with the flick of his tongue, a little lap that drags along the space that is ridge to head. Poses this question while maintaining eye contact as he licks the taste of bitter salt off his thumb. “I  _ can _ take care of you, right?” 

He feels Motoya’s grip tighten on his shoulder, sees the nod of his head when “Please,” leaves his husband’s mouth desperate and sweet. 

“Mn,” Rintarou hums, unable to refuse politeness like this, repeats the previous motions of his thumb, only now with his tongue. Hollows his cheeks before taking his husband’s manhood in earnest. Increment by increment, as while average in length, the shaft errs on the girther side compared to other husbands. It’s good, fills up the inside of his mouth nicely - not boring to lavish attention on, but also not a hassle to fit comfortably. With the slightest buck of the hips, Rintarou can feel it hit the back of his throat and chokes on it oh-so-briefly. 

It’s fantastic. Especially with how ragged Motoya’s breathing is becoming. 

“Ah-” Motoya curses, “Fuck. Rin, I’m going to come if you don’t-” these magic words and Rintarou lifts his head up with a  _ pop _ . A small smirk graces his face upon seeing how disheveled his husband is, the low whine that follows along with the loss of contact. At this, Rintarou generously offers him two options.

“Want me to finish you off now?” teases Motoya’s knuckles with the ghosting of lips, “Or can I have you a bit longer?” 

“You can have more of me,” Motoya answers without a second thought, and Rin can’t help how the edge of his mouth curls upwards, pleased. 

“Alright,” Rintarou’s tone is disinterested, betraying the fire burning in the pit of his stomach as he stands up to undress himself. “Would going all the way tonight be fine with you?” and drapes his  _ haori _ over its stand, then starts to work on undoing his sash. 

“Yes,” comes without a hint of hesitance, and Rin smiles and turns around, decides it wouldn’t hurt to undress in front of his husband. It’s a show that’s overdue after all. 

Layer by layer, he strips himself of his garments, and Motoya only watches him with rapt attention, a gaze that follows his every movement as his clothes are discarded one by one. Eventually, Rintarou is completely bare under the other’s stare, and it’s then Motoya breaks his silent observation. 

“Wow, your dick is so pretty,” there’s awe in Motoya’s voice, and Rintarou finds himself blinking slowly at the other man’s comment for that was not what he had expected his husband’s first comment on his nude form to be. 

Despite preparing the oil for the next set of activities, he casts his gaze downwards with a curious look. Rin knows that he’s pretty, but it’s the first time someone has singled out his dick. It’s half-hard and drooping heavy, a flushed pink head that’s heat-seeking, looking for touch. Still, it’s a compliment, and Rintarou decides it’s better than being told that it’s ugly. 

A moment passes for his husband before he realizes what he had said. His face goes entirely red from mortification, all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“Wait, sorry,” Motoya’s hands are flailing at either side now, “I didn’t mean it like that _ , _ ” and Rintarou doesn’t even know what  _ that  _ is supposed to be, and Motoya continues to babble, flustered, “Is it an insult to tell another man that his dick is pretty?” 

“I don’t know,” Rintarou hums, makes his way towards Motoya’s side with a dish of oil set on the side table. Makes himself comfortable on his mattress and takes one of his husband’s wrist. He presses the other man’s fingertips to his lips softly, “Depends if you meant it as an insult?” his question bears no inflection, and it seems to fluster Motoya even more.

“It’s not!” Motoya insists quickly, fingers curling into his palm, away from Rintarou’s mouth, and the natural blush of his cheeks are such an endearing hue. If only rogues came in that coloured and if only Rintarou had a heart, he thinks it’d be swelling with fondness as Motoya proclaims with confidence, “It’s pretty. Like the rest of you. You’re pretty.” 

“I’m pretty?” Rintarou teases with a laugh, before shifting their positions, using his hold on his husband’s wrist to push the other man down. Straddles him, uses his knees to push apart Motoya’s legs, has one hand under Motoya’s chin, and offers a predatory smile, “From my view, I must say you’re not so bad looking yourself,” and the reaction he gets from the other man is a delight. 

Lets go of the other man’s wrist to press a thumb into Motoya’s thigh, rubbing soothing circles, “And because you’re so handsome,” Rin sings, “I’ll let you put in a special request. Do you have any preferred positions, husband dearest?” and his other hand starts to wander lower and lower, giving Motoya’s ass a cheeky squeeze. He didn’t think it was possible for his husband’s face to reach deeper shades of red, but maybe Motoya is only here to prove all his predetermined expectations wrong. 

“Like this.” It’s impressive that Motoya is able to keep his voice even despite being apple red, “I want to see your face.”

Rin dips his fingers into oil, rubbing digits together to warm it up, and flicks his gaze briefly to Motoya, “Aren’t you a romantic,” Rin coos at the other man, and starts prodding at the other man’s entrance slowly with a finger first, “Though, it might hurt a bit,” hears a sharp inhale from his husband when he’s only one knuckle deep. Rin can feel his brows pinch together and looks up to gauge Motoya’s reaction, “But if it’s too much, just let me know. We can stop at any time,” and is about to pull his finger out when Motoya curls up to hold his wrist in a tight grip. 

“Don’t,” comes the other’s exhale, eyes half-lidded, “I’m just not used to it,” admission that comes easy with determination. Slowly, Rintarou begins to move his hand again with both eyebrows raised, Motoya following with a relieved sigh before lying back down, “you can take your time with me.” 

“Sounds like you’re just insatiable,” Rin snipes back with a smile, and dribbles more oil over his fingers, now set to stretch Motoya into fitting two fingers, “And you should know that I’m the impatient type.” 

“I want you that badly,” Motoya raises his head to give Rintarou a half-hearted glare, and there’s no reason for such a pissy expression to look so cute. His lips are twisted into a pout, and he turns his cheek the other way, which wouldn’t do. 

Two fingers, and Rintarou presses into the second knuckle, inching bit by bit till he reaches near the base of his third knuckle. The entire time, Motoya hasn’t said a word or made a sound, and still hasn’t looked at him while RIntarou is working so hard to make sure he feels good. It’s when Motoya’s good for three fingers that a moan finally escapes his mouth, that is promptly bit away into Motoya’s palm, fleshy part of the thumb. 

God, Rin is so amused, and it’s not his fault when he gives a vicious thrust with his fingers, just to see the other man jolt with barely concealed pleasure. Rin licks his bottom lip and makes his advance on his husband, lifts one leg over his shoulder and presses close. “Didn’t you say that you wanted to see my face?” Rin curls his fingers inside Motoya, and the other man’s head jerks in his direction, tears clinging at the edge of his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Motoya bites out, and Rin kisses Motoya’s ankle, lets the man has his hissy-fit, “that was before I realized you were a sadistic bastard,” and Rintarou can’t help the laugh that leaves him when he pulls his fingers out, relishing in the whimper that escapes from Motoya’s mouth at the loss of him. 

“I never tried hiding it,” Rintarou strokes himself twice, cock aching to be in the warmth of his husband, “Am I too much for you?” he asks while positioning himself, and has Motoya’s other leg on his shoulder now too, letting his length tease at Motoya’s rim. 

Motoya rolls his eyes, and again, it’s cute. Rintarou has this unholy urge to ruin this man. “No,” his husband answers while wiggling his hips downwards, “You’re just insufferable.” 

“I’m insufferable and you chose me,” and finally, Rin indulges in himself, working himself slowly into Motoya. The other’s reaction is immediate, mouth dropping with a little gasp, and again, his lips part, and again, Rintarou feels hunger festering. 

He rocks his hips back and forth shallowly - it’s for his husband’s sake, after all, this was his first time. Bides his time, till finally Motoya breaks, previous pissiness broken down into moans instead and he’s asking for more, “Rin, Rin,” and the single syllable rolling off his tongue makes Rintarou sounds like something sinful, “Fuck- can’t you go any deeper?” 

“I could,” and demonstrates by pushing himself in completely, and the courtesan doesn’t miss how his husband’s eyes roll into the back of his head. They’re so close now, and Rintarou is tempted to have Motoya chest to chest with him, just to see how deep he can go. It’s selfish, so he distracts himself first, looms over Motoya by folding him into two. “You look really good like this,” Rin kisses his husband, “It really makes me want to break you,” and Motoya’s breath hitches, “I want to break you and put you back together,” Rintarou pants, sweet nothings that slip off his tongue meaninglessly, “Fuck, you look so good underneath me.” 

Another keen that leaves Motoya’s mouth, and Rin thinks that might be his second favourite sound. 

His favourite sound now though? It’s how Motoya whimpers his name, “Rin, Rin, Rin,” and his name sounds like a song. 

* * *

Come daybreak, dawn that peeks in through the bamboo blinds, and Rintarou is the one who wakes up first. He wakes up with Motoya in his arms, under the sheets. Sliver of sunlight that sneaks in further to draw a line of light across Motoya’s cheek, neck and shoulder, where Rintarou has left marks of red and purple. 

If they were actual lovers, Rintarou would consider the courtesy of calling them love bites. They are not lovers though, just two individuals playing husband and husband and in the morning after, the spell should break. If he wakes up first, he should get out of bed now, wash up and dress himself before Motoya wakes up. It’s the proper thing to do after all, and  _ marriage  _ is the label put upon the contract that the two of them are bound by. 

Rintarou knows that he should get up and take a quick shower at least, to wash off yesterday, because tonight he’ll be stringing another person for another dream. His body feels heavy though, and Motoya shifts in his sleep, a groan making itself known in his throat. Rin loosens his grip on the other man, only for his husband to roll into his chest, giving a soft pleased sound. 

“Mngh,” is a sign of life from Motoya, whose head is resting on Rintarou’s bicep, and maybe that’s why he couldn’t feel it when he woke up, “Do you want me to go?” comes a groggy question, and Rintarou almost answers but his brain is still slow upon waking, and Motoya continues talking, “I don’t have to stay if it’s too much of a hassle.” 

The latter statement seems out of place, and Rintarou, despite wanting to savour Motoya’s body heat even more, pulls back gently, gently to get a good look at Motoya’s face. The man’s eyes are still closed, but his mouth is still forming sentences, soft it’s almost inaudible. 

“You’ve already been… much too kind to me.” 

A sleeptalker, and it isn’t the first time Rin has heard a partner mumble in their dream. Still, Rin can pretend that the last sentence is for him, and presses a kiss to Motoya’s forehead. 

“Don’t worry about it,” hums with his eyes closed, “If you stay in bed just a bit longer, then I have an excuse to not get up yet too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> holy fuck big shout out to kuro for watching me frakenstien this whole shebang and beta-ing because holy shit, the encouragement was unreal. i don't deserve u either but thank u 
> 
> also thank you for reading this! it's self-indulgent, so reading this means ur indulging me too, and i get warm feelings over that. yes, i still have the og version somewhere, but if you want to check that compare, feel free to hmu on twitter @RainElsewhere 
> 
> and big thank u to the source material itself, for making adulthood seem... not impossible. it's neat


End file.
